


Package Deal

by feldman



Category: Farscape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:05:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feldman/pseuds/feldman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after "Sons and Lovers": sometimes the Human is truly appalling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Package Deal

Sometimes the Human is truly appalling.

"Crichton..." She abandons several avenues of inquiry before she continues, trying to find the tack that will be most effective for the situation. "What happened to the holster I gave you?"

She wants to simply grab the pistol out of his waistband because what kind of mental deficient shoves a weapon there? She refrains, because the point is to secure the weapon promptly without too much argument.

Too much argument and she's likely to reach out, flick the trigger and wordlessly demonstrate the idiocy of carrying a weapon anywhere but its safety holster. But it would be unfair to punish him for what amounts to her own lack of self-control, her inability to keep her eyes schooled, the small obsessions she allows herself in lieu of anything substantial between them. Just because she can't have it doesn't mean it shouldn't exist. After all, what would she look at in the marketplace? She drags her eyes up to meet his, curling her hands into fists.

"Strap broke a few shops back." He has enough awareness to blush as he pulls his jacket to cover the handle of the pistol and scan the crowd. "Kept bumping against my leg."

She pulls him out of the flow of traffic toward a copse of trees set off the street, where a few elders have collected around game boards and hookahs. She leans over to assess the situation, bracing one hand on her knee and using the other to pull his jacket out of the way and tug at the holster while he pretends to scrutinize the beings milling on the street, the elders drowsing in the shady courtyard, everything but her.

The holster is secure to his belt but the strap that ties it down to the thigh has gone missing. With the weight of the pistol and no lower strap the holster would swing and bash against his leg, but without the weapon the cradle hangs next to his thigh, empty and out of the way. It's an easy field repair and there's no reason to delay considering the alternative holster he's chosen. "Where's the broken tie-down?"

"Don't worry about it." He tries to pull her up. "D'Argo's almost done buying his lemonade."

"We're fixing this now, Crichton. We can catch up once your weapon is secure."

He sighs and pulls a handful of strapping from his jacket pocket. She selects a low stone stool in the little courtyard and pulls him to stand in front of her while she sits.

"How're you doing?" He nods and smiles to the taciturn beings passing around a hosepipe a few motras away. "Nice weather, huh?"

Their only comment is a slow blink and an elegant dismissal. Crichton clears his throat, and the nervous jump of his diaphragm translates to the butt of the pistol jutting out of his waistband. The safety is on, at least.

"It can't be fixed down here, Aeryn."

She untangles the strap and finds that the buckle has worn right through the leather. "You need to keep the strap tighter so it doesn't move as much. It will be more comfortable as well."

"There's not enough strap left to go around my leg no matter how tight." His hands are never truly still but it's even more annoying to observe them close up. He constantly moves his fingers, touches things, cracks his knuckles with a battery of musical snaps. She wonders if it's a tech thing, the hands themselves restless to be taking things apart, playing with the pieces, seeing how they fit together.

"Simple field repair." She yanks his leg up, parking his foot on the next stone stool over. His hands fly out for balance, then swoop back in.

His frelling hands. He has sex with those hands instead of with her and while the idea of that frustrates her she can't tell whether it's more out of anger or lust. As if to spite her, he rests his forearm on his propped thigh and cracks his wrist with a fluid roll.

She reaches the broken strap around his leg and finds that he's right about the length, but that problem is easily solved. "Take this."

He holds his square hand out like a tray and she sets the broken strap and buckle onto his palm. She unfastens her own tie down and removes it from her holster. She pulls her buckle off the longer strap and locks it onto the short length of his broken one. It's a smokier color than her holster and stands out against the unworn leather of her pants, but it works.

The butt of the pistol moves as he draws in breath to speak. "Does this mean we're going steady?"

His buckle is warm from his hand. She attaches it to her longer strap and threads it through the bottom of his holster. "We're not going steadily anywhere until your weapon is properly secured."

He laughs, and his eyes are the same color as the sky behind him, squinted with an easy smile.

She pulls the strap tight, the muscle of his thigh tensing underneath her steadying hand. She adjusts the buckle and reaches for the offending pulse pistol. It's not the only thing she sees. Her close ministrations haven't gone unnoticed, and her hand almost pauses on its way to the poly handle to cup the more compelling texture of warm rigid male under leather.

Nothing she hasn't seen before, she thinks to herself. The issue at hand is safety and it's not to be found in the Human's pants. She doesn't want to pay the price he's asking, no matter the fact that it's been so long since she's recreated with another person that her hands itch to close the distance and the stone under her arse is probably hot to the touch by now.

She flicks her braid back over her shoulder and takes hold of the pulse pistol.

Her knuckles brush against warm fabric and his stomach tenses from the touch. She draws it out of the waistband. The poly casing is warm like it's been fired, but then, so is she. She switches hands, grabs the back of his knee and slides the weapon where it belongs, snug into the safety of the holster.

His shirt is untucked in the front from where she pulled out the pistol, a square dench of bare skin and soft hairs gathering down under the waistband. She shoves his boot off the stool but he stands still in front of her, as if her orbit is decaying and eventually she'll be drawn down against his heat if he just waits. He's breathing faster than normal. His ready need is even more prominent, defined under the leather as it burrows to the side and down.

She hooks her fingers in his waistband and pulls herself to a stand. She knows it's a cheap feel but she's become accustomed to grabbing whatever benefits her slackening discipline afford her. And one day he'll either see reason or crack. One day soon, she thinks, giving the belt and holster an extra tug and a nod of approval.

"You're right." He smirks and presses against her, and she barely escapes getting her hand caught between them. "It's tighter than before but it feels pretty good."

"Proper technique yields superior results."

"Practice makes perfect." His hands slide around her hips and he twists her against him so they meet in a brushing roll.

One day soon, one of them will break, and until this moment she was sure it would be him. She grabs his thumb and bends it in a painful direction. "Crichton."

He looks slowly from her eyes to her mouth and back. "Yeah?"

"In future, keep your pulse pistol out of your pants or I'll take it away from you."

His voice is low and he savors the words. "You're just saying that because you want my gun."

She uses his bent back thumb to peel his hand off of her. "We've discussed this before."

"Yes, we have." He sets a fingertip in the hollow at the base of her throat and draws it down the skin to the zipper of her shirt, then follows the zipper down. His voice is soft and ragged with desire and an affectionate ache, "And it's still a package deal."

He blinks with a gentle smile.

He turns and walks away.


End file.
